


Did to Me

by goseaward



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-12
Updated: 2005-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homes and safe places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Frances, the Best Quick Beta in the World  
> Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest

Harry's wandering the halls, his fingers sliding in the dampness along the dungeon stones. It's what he usually does now. The Tower's too hard, too many memories of classmates gone, and heaven forbid he even try to enter the Great Hall. But he's never liked the dungeons and so here it's safe. 

Except for one place, one small corner. He doesn't actually know where Snape's quarters are, but he guesses they're on the other side of this blank bit of wall. Because he always stops here, one hand braced against the rough rock, and always his mind swims with verboten images: dirty skinny Snape, nipples hard and pointed and brown under Harry's teeth, milky arse spread and tender as Harry slides in-out, in-out. Or Harry, wrists in silk scarves that feel like smooth Veritaserum, bound to the bed as Snape lies between his legs and slowly, agonizingly, licks root to tip and back again. Or Snape, bent over the back of a black leather armchair as Harry slashes stripe after stripe of blood-pink skin onto the fleshy white of his buttocks. All images he'd never think himself, all images he's sure Snape's putting into his mind, sitting in his room yelling " _Legilimens!_ " over and over, just waiting for Harry to walk by. 

Snape hates him, you see, and he hates Snape. Not the nebulous hatred of his early years, or the later grudging respect laced with poison. Now it's crystallized, sharp edges and hard blunt planes cutting his mind apart, and he thinks Snape feels the same way. Knows, actually. In the oddest coincidence of all, Snape had had to open a link between his mind and Harry's to save them from Voldemort, since Harry had never learned Occlumency--Snape's fault of course, and fitting that it was his remedy. And now Harry knows for sure that he and Snape will never be anything but enemies, because he knows what it feels like to see himself through Snape's eyes. 

And he keeps coming back here. Because as disturbing as it is to anticipate what image he'll see this day, the triumph of knowing he's _letting_ Snape do this is sweeter still. Maybe Snape will notice, one day, exactly how much Harry chooses. 

*** 

He's staying at Hogwarts. That was never really a question. Remus might have taken him in, but once a month or more he'd have been back here anyway. Knowing Snape, he'd refuse to give Remus the wolfsbane unless Harry fetched it; and even with the potion Remus would insist Harry left during the full moon. And where would Harry go--the Dursleys? No, Hogwarts for him. So even though they have a miraculously full staff, Harry is staying. Hero-in-residence. 

They offered him any room he wanted and he took the most neutral one he could find. Charms corridor. None of them had been especially good at Charms, so no strong memories here, and Flitwick had survived the war so it didn't call up the same hole that, say, History of Magic did. (Binns had finally given up the ghost, so to speak, in a rush of ectoplasm that took out three Death Eaters at once.) The dungeons had been out, of course, no matter how much he hated them before. He may loathe Snape, but in the end he can't stand to hurt anyone from the Order, and the pain he'd felt with every glimpse Snape got of him during the final battle convinced him that the man was better off alone. 

The return to that same spot in the dungeons is a kind of masochism, Harry supposes. He's known he's gay since Christmas of sixth year when he caught Ron wanking and wanted to join in, but he hasn't told anybody. Snape's continued abuse of the situation is freeing in some ways, but hurting in so many more. One more night, though, for Harry to perfect the spell, and then he'll have his revenge. For tonight, though...better not let Snape know anything's wrong. 

He walks down the hallway, fingers gliding along in the mortared groove between the stones. And there, his spot, Snape's spot, whatever. 

And he's got his back pressed against the wall, the wooden wall, and his legs are around Snape's hips, which are thrusting slow enough to make Harry's heart ache. There's warm smooth skin all along his chest and belly, little crinkles of hair against his nipples and more against his cock, which is thick and stiff, heavy and so close between his thighs, against Snape's belly. The sweet pull of Snape moving out, the neverending glide back in, has Harry ready to come at a breath 

his tea and putting the saucer back down. "No," he laughs, "Neville never was very good at potions--though you didn't help at all." 

"I most certainly did!" Snape says, straightening, though his eyes snap with laughter. "If he can make potions when he's so terrified he wants to soil his pants, he can make them any 

slumps forward, and the heat in his arse is brilliant, and Snape is saying something into his neck, something that sounds like 

tongue along the soft skin of his sac, and Harry's toes are curling just from that, even as the oiled fingers are edging closer and closer to his hole. He doesn't care, though, not with Snape's tongue going...up the vein oh God oh God he's never going to last, not with one finger finally inside him burning but sogood and that wicked tongue licking its way up his 

"Yes, Severus," he gasps, mouth open against Snape's hot skin, hot shoulder, as Snape's hips move faster 

"More!" Harry says, Severus says, he doesn't know, as Snape's cock fills him thick needy and with two hard thrusts he's coming, Harry's soft and sated cock slipping in the come on their bellies, disgusting maybe but he doesn't care, doesn't know anything but the thin strong torso pressing him into the wall and the tension slowly ebbing from his body. He 

"Again tomorrow?" but that isn't right, it's supposed to be something else, but Snape's eyes are saying it anyway. 

Harry slams his hand against the stones and goes back upstairs to deal with the aftereffects of Snape's twisted little game. 

*** 

Snape eats all of his haggis at dinner. 

Harry says, "Need energy for tonight, eh?" 

Snape pales and Harry grins, turning away to talk to someone else. 

*** 

Harry tries hard to keep hold of himself as his senses are bombarded with the idea that he's kneeling between Snape's knees, stroking as his mouth shifts slowly along Snape's cock. He can taste the bitterness on his tongue as he removes his wand from his pocket, can feel wiry hair coating the handle as he casts the spell and slides through the wall as if it were made of custard. 

He's not sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn't Snape sitting (with his wrists tied to the back rungs of his chair) slumped over his desk, (mouth open gasping in pleasure) asleep. 

He moves (backs off to delay) closer to the scene and nudges Snape with flicks of magic from his wand until Snape's leaning back in his chair, arms dangling, trouser placket open--he must have been masturbating before he fell asleep. The thought sends a wave of lust down Harry's body. Another quick tap of his wand binds Snape's wrists with soft rope, and a third turns their clothes to dust and air. The dream is fracturing, Snape is waking up, and Harry doesn't have much time. He sheds his Invisibility Cloak and pushes the chair back as fast as he dares. When Snape opens his eyes, mind losing its hold outside of sleep, Harry's already on his knees, fingers spread on those taut thighs, mouth working. 

It's not like the visions, it's messy and awkward and Snape tries to thrust too much and comes too soon, and Harry almost asks Snape to stop later because the oil isn't slick enough and his fingers are too big, and the chair is terribly uncomfortable and the bed maybe doesn't have the best linens, but when Harry finally climaxes it's better than his hand or any dream, and sleeping in a bed not-alone is better than all of it. 

*** 

Harry's wandering the halls, his fingers sliding in the dampness along the dungeon stones. It's what he usually does now. The time to think isn't so terrible, really, and it's good to be in a place that feels like home. 


End file.
